


The Edge of Night

by The_Bentley



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apocalypse, Battle, End of the World, Lower Tadfield, M/M, Mild Blood, Non-Graphic Violence, Temporary Character Death, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley
Summary: The Apocalypse happens resulting in the deaths of Aziraphale and Crowley. But not to worry, God still has some plans for these two. AU version of the events at Lower Tadfield and beyond.





	The Edge of Night

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to get this thing out of my head. It's been possessing me like a demon for two days. Hopefully this exorcises it.

Things were not going well at all.  The Antichrist had failed to stop the Apocalypse.  Instead he panicked at the thought of losing everything dear to him and accidentally set Heaven against Hell, starting a whole awful chain of events into action.  Seas boiled, the sky throbbed with a blood-red light and humans died as angels clashed with demons worldwide.  One of fighters looked over the carnage.  He had tried to prevent it.  Oh, he had spent eleven years attempting to keep the world from ending, but he still found himself in the middle of a deadly battle, unwilling to fight except to defend his own life.

He looked younger than he had in years, thinner, too.  His body was now battle-ready, somewhat muscular with mercury-quick reflexes.  No helmet sat on top of that mess of blond curls, but he wore the short white tunic, sandals and golden armour of the Heavenly Host.  The flaming sword he carried wasn’t as encrusted with blood as some of the weaponry of the more bloodthirsty angels.  Fighting broke out not far away forcing him to flee further down the airfield.  His stomach nearly turned as he saw angels and demons skewer each other with a certain amount of glee.  Both sides wanted this war so badly.

Smoothy he landed on the field, flaming sword held in a defensive position, cautious as he surveyed the area.  He almost stepped on the black-clad body wearing silver armour that lay in a ditch barely breathing.  Beautiful, fiery red hair topped the demon’s head.  Kneeling quickly, he turned the body over and sighed in relief.  He was mistaken.  It wasn’t red, just a sandy blond stained copper by the blood flowing freely around the battlefield.  Moving on, he left the wounded demon to its fate.  He tried not focusing on his own -- that he might not survive this war himself and even if he did, he would be unhappy for the rest of infinity wasting away in eternal Heaven.

Across the airfield huddled near a convenient building, a similar yet different figure healed a nasty wound on his shoulder, taking the time to wish the tear in his short, black tunic away.  He repositioned the shoulder pad of his silver armour then reluctantly picked up the foul black mace he’d be issued when he’d been pressed into service.  How quickly the situation turned.  Several hours ago, they were threatening him with eternal torture of the worst kind.  Now they drafted him because it would be a waste to not throw one more piece of cannon fodder into the war they realized they were in danger of losing. 

Using all the stealth he possessed from millennia of lurking, stalking and otherwise behaving like a bad influence, he slithered out of his hiding spot before he was discovered by either side.  Better to act like he was actually participating than get struck down by one of the more fanatical of his own people immediately after being declared a defector. 

If only he could just get to one of the nearby Jeeps, jump in and speed the hell out of this nightmare.  But the nightmare extended the world over.  He had seen the Horsepersons take off, spreading ancient wings to go visit mayhem upon the land.  All was lost.  It didn’t matter what side won.  He was either going to end up in a state of nonexistence or spending a miserable eternity pretending to enjoy celebrating with the rest of the demons. 

They saw each other from across the mass of struggling bodies, carnage and blood.  One picked out that unusual red hair, the other noticed the body language of a bookseller.  Slowly they moved along the edges of the battle, taking occasional swings at members of the other side for appearance’s sake until they met up and started their own mock fight.  They had fought many times before in the past, sometimes to the discorporation, but this was different.  It counted this time.  No returning to your home base to wait for a new corporation to be issued.  Death meant never coming back. 

“Angel?”

“Thank heaven you’re ok.”

“For the love of all, we have so failed.  This is it.  Game over.”

Angel took a half-hearted swipe at demon, who deftly moved out of the way. Demon parried back, giving angel enough room to jump free of the mace.  From a distance it looked believable.  From a distance everyone else was too busy to notice.  

“It’s done.  We’re losing.  I’m going to die,” said the demon, whose face carried a barely contained look of panic. “Three rounds, one left standing, no prisoners taken.  Six thousand years, but I don’t rate an afterlife.   It’s been nice knowing you.  I’m really going to miss our lunches at the Ritz.”  

“Don’t talk like that.  We’re going make it through like we always have.  I’ll find a way to save you,” promised the angel, but his words rang hollow in the ears of the demon even if he was being sincere in his belief.  He blocked a sorry excuse of an attack from the demon’s mace with the flat of his sword.

Neither one of them could bear the thought of an eternity without the other.  Six millennia of another’s presence can form some strong bonds.  The cold, hard fact of the matter was that one most likely could not survive without the other.  It would be the first case of a supernatural being dying of a broken heart.

“Well, what do we have here?”

The demon unexpectedly found a flaming sword inches from his chest as the greatest warrior of the other side smirked down at him.  Suddenly he knew what real terror was and from the sound of breath hitching beside him, so did his mock fighting partner.  He closed his eyes for an instant in resigned acceptance.

The angel saw the glint of regret in the demon’s serpentine eyes a moment before the warrior stabbed him through the heart, impossibly driving the sword through armour, bone and infernal soul.  With a scream he caught his mortally wounded friend before he hit the ground, sobbing as he watched the life leave the demon.  Surrounded by a circle of white and black feathers, the demon caressed the angel’s cheek one last time as the angel embraced him.  The lithe body went limp in his arms. 

“Don’t go.”

Heaven’s mightiest warrior laughed cruelly.  “Was that the one with whom you were friends?”

There was no reply.  The blond head bowed over the red one, foreheads touching.  He didn’t care what happened now.  They could do him the favor of killing him.  He had nothing left.

“Traitor,” sneered the warrior.  “You can join him.”

A searing pain exploded in his back.  A blinding white light obscured his sight.  Then he ceased to exist.

 

~*~*~

 

He woke up in a soothing forest environment, laying in a glen shrouded in the misty feel of a dream.  Sitting up, he clutched at his chest feeling the sword slide through his heart, but saw no wound on his black tunic.  Wait, where was his armour?

Beside him lay a white-clad body surrounded by wings as light as his were dark.  The angel slumbered, he suspected, not yet revived in this strange afterlife.  He didn’t have long to wait before his counterpart awoke.

He sat up with a cry, arching his back, experiencing again the pain of being stabbed between the shoulder blades by another angel.  “I am not a traitor!”

The demon scrambled over to him, “Shh, it’s ok.  We’re not on the battlefield anymore.”

He smiled down at the angel and stroked his hair with his long fingers.  The angel smiled up in return at him and touched the demon’s leg.

“You’re real,” said the angel as the demon gave him a hand up.

“And so are you.” 

“Where are we, my dear?”

“No idea.”

“You’re Inbetween.”  An elderly man wearing a plaid shirt, sensible trousers and hiking boots, sporting a white beard and hair walked up to them.  He was holding an ornate hourglass carved with all kinds of delicate symbols.  “I created it especially to bring your spirits here.  You’re an interesting pair; not at all what I expected when I created angels.  Not at all.”

The angel froze as his blue eyes widened in shock.  The demon tried to backpedal with a scared, strangled cry.

“No, no.  You’re fine!  You’re fine!  I still love those who Fell.  And you outshone any of them.”  He smiled at the demon before turning that proud smile to the angel.  “So did you.”

The angel’s brow crinkled a bit in confusion; the demon just clung to his companion’s arm as if not sure what to do or say. 

“How did we outshine any of the others, Lord?” asked the angel. 

“Free will.  You all were supposed to develop it when I stepped back, but I can see that backfired,” He said with a shrug.  “I guess we’re just going to have to go back and try again.  You will not be punished by either of your sides for exercising that free will.  But in return for doing that for you, I need you to do something for me.”

He fixed them both with a stare that spanned infinity and held both their gazes in turn as He spoke again.  “The battle happened, except nobody remembers that but you two.  They remember that the Antichrist stopped the whole thing.  You will keep it that way, ok?  Oh, and you’ll do your best to teach both sides that they can exist in balance with each other.  Think of it as expanding your Arrangement.  Got it?

“Get out of London.  You two have been there too long.  Go get a cottage by the seaside and enjoy life a bit.  I know a couple of good ones for sale.  I’ll leave you some information by the till, ok?”

He beamed at both of them before flipping the hourglass over.

 

~*~*~

 

Aziraphale drew in a long, gasping breath as he opened his eyes and sat up, aware Crowley was doing exactly the same thing across the table from him.  They were in the backroom of his beloved bookshop a rare, expensive, opened bottle of wine and two filled wine glasses before them.

“Did you?” 

“Ngh.”

“It wasn’t a dream, then?”

“I sure hope so.  I don’t need to be on a mission from the Big Guy.”  Crowley picked up a glass and literally gulped the vintage wine in a way that would cause a wine connoisseur to go into cardiac arrest. 

Something on his chest caught his companion’s attention.

Aziraphale reached across the table to touch the fabric of Crowley’s designer shirt, his fingers slipping right through it.  When Crowley raised the glass to his lips, the angel noticed the movement had revealed a vertical slash in the material right over his heart.  Crowley gave him a grim look.  Aziraphale held his gaze seriously for a moment before turning his back to Crowley.   

“Is there a rip in my waistcoat?”

“Yes.  Shirt, too.”  Fingers traced downwards from his shoulder blades.  He could hear the uneasiness in Crowley’s voice, which also sounded distant.  “Michael’s blade went right through my armour.  I didn’t stand a chance.”

“He got me in the back for being a traitor because I . . .”  Aziraphale trailed off with a shiver.  “Let’s not talk about that.  We have another chance here.”

“And a well-nigh impossible mission.”

“Oh, if anybody can do it we can.  He wouldn’t trust us with it if we couldn’t.”  Aziraphale refilled Crowley’s empty glass.  He raised his own high, convinced they could pull this off and do a grand job at it. 

Crowley shrugged.  There was no point in arguing with the angel when he was confident about something.  What the hell.  Nothing like a second chance.  He touched his glass against Aziraphale’s. 

**Author's Note:**

> * The turning of the hourglass is a little nod to Sir Terry. I won't say any more than that just in case you haven't read the right Discworld books. 
> 
> * I'm just adding to the "Archangel Michael Is a Dick" trope, aren't I?


End file.
